the tuckaseegee runs through
slow and easy, as much a part
of my body as is the blood
celt and cherokee
were the seeds that grew
along the creeks, in coves, and on hills
back on your mountain,
i hear you in the gloaming, and
the half-light of dawn
in the call of owl, rustle of deer
and if i stare enough into the smokey blue
i feel the bow vibrate the strings
and your roots take hold of me -
roots that feed me,
that someday, i will follow
deep into this ground
where the tuckaseegee runs through
Gold trophy winner
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